


A Song of Innocence and Experience

by whip_the_fritter



Category: Furry (Fandom), Original Work
Genre: Animals, Anthropomorphic, Brothels, Consensual Non-Consent, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Dom/sub Undertones, Drug Use, F/M, Oral Sex, Rabbits, Sedated Animals, Sex, Sheep, Tiger wants to be dominated by a sheep, Tigers, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:48:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25425652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whip_the_fritter/pseuds/whip_the_fritter
Summary: Living as a sheep in the big city isn't easy, ask Zoila. In a world where anthropomorphic animals thrive in modern society alongside humans, houses of ill repute have risen amongst the elite and poor alike. Unable to contain her dangerous desires, our little sheep strays from the safety of her flock into Hestia's Harem where horrifying delights await.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 13





	A Song of Innocence and Experience

**Author's Note:**

> The first in what I'd like to be a series. It's my first jump into full blown furry tales with inspirations from Zootopia, Beastars and BNA.

A tranquilizer gun and a riding crop.

A sheepish, frightened thought mocked her. _Will I have to use these_ …she trembled at the possibility; however, the time and money spent to reserve her appointment was obscene, which, in turn - made the thought blasphemous. 

Studying each item in her delicate grasp, she reiterated the reasons for their presence, swallowing trepidation caught in her throat. _I didn’t ask for this_ , was her defense, and in retaliation, defiance taped her tongue to the roof of her mouth. Instead, she breathed through her nostrils, shifting her attention from the door to where a rabbit stood.

Of an average human, female height, the rabbit measured, though it was possible she was a little shorter. Her hair was whiter than snow, whiter than liquid white out, and her eyes were an inflamed pink. But this wasn’t a problem. As the woman explained, she was an albino Californian - a breed known for its high rated albinism. Her fur was well groomed, brushed to uncharacteristic softness even Zoila was able to identify. 

_My wool can’t compare_ , she thought idly, feeling a rush of shame climb up her neck. She wanted to look away, return to the door, or possibly, return the riding crop and tranquilizer gun back to the she-rabbit. _This was a mistake, a mistake. I’m sorry for wasting your time. You can keep the money._ Leaving the money was a consolation, to smooth over any hard feelings; yet, for some reason, Zoila's grasped protectively around both.

Her stare traveled to the woman’s left breast. Right above was a brooch was a pale lavender delphinium brooch. Under the light, the amethyst stones making up the petals sparkled mockingly. They seemed to fit on her burgundy frock dress. Zoila stared at her own clothes. 

Blue jeans, a cardigan sweater and undershirt for the sweater. She tried to hide her embarrassment under her dense, black wool, praying to the Saint for protection, then sharply reprimanded herself. _There’s no saint here,_ she bit down on her cheek, _she’d be appalled to see me here._

She cleared her throat, straightened, “Am I under-dressed?” Her question was asked timidly, barely audible to the point only a rabbit could decipher her whisper. Her brow furrowed, and a pout threatened to appear. She sounded like a three year old lamb. Not the mature professional she wanted to convey, in tone if not attire.

The rabbit grinned. “Oh, that’s up to you,” she chuckled. For some reason, Zoila didn’t feel she was being mocked. “You’ve paid for it. You dress how you please.”

“Um...Mrs. Winterbottom -,”

“Oh, Mrs. Winterbottom is my grandmother,” she corrected. Her smile was syrupy sweet, “Call me April.”

“Okay.” She licked her top row of teeth, “What do I do? I mean...I’ve read everything and planned everything, but now...I’m...worried.” Afraid was better, for what she was about to do was possibly the stupidest thing she’d ever done in her twenty-eight years, and no one else besides the kindly rabbit woman at her side knew about it.

Which, again, was a stupid idea. Discretion was desired; yet, telling someone wasn’t completely out of the question. Her friends visited similar houses, and some even had their favorites. _Jocelyn loves the Rabbit Burrow. Taylor goes to the Watering Hole. Even Mr. Bighorn takes a mistress and mister to his private island._ But a merino sheep, a sable antelope and a white tailed deer were herbivores. Based on her knowledge they didn’t stray far from what was preferred for their species, what was safe. 

Tranquilizer gun in her left hand, riding crop in her right and her grip coiled, drawing the serpent’s envy. _What am I doing_...her shoulders trembled, ready to squeeze into her neck. Wrong. Before she even dialed the phone number read on her laptop screen, she knew it was wrong. Her desire remained secret, silent and shielded under layers of propriety. After all, she grew up in a flock of black Merino sheep. It was best for her and her kind to play by the rules.

Now, the question of whose rules were in control was presented. Modern society had fallen in the backdrop, and as much as she wanted to retreat to the fog of naivete, she was beyond the point of return. Going back wasn’t an option. Accepting this truth, she swallowed and inhaled. Her small chest expanded.

She faced the taller woman. “Can you explain the contract again,” she requested, tone bolder, stronger than earlier. “I understand I am permitted to do what I please within reason, as in…,” she trailed off nervously.

April smirked. “Yes, your second has given consent.”

“And they’re -,”

“Fit to your specifications,” clarified, folding her arms under her breasts. “Oh, don’t worry, we’ve agreed to their specifications, and if you’re worried about accidents, don’t, your second is as docile as an err,” she faltered, frowning at her mishap, “as docile as you’d be outside this building.”

“I’m not violent,” she snapped, offended at the suggestion. “I don’t even know why I need the gun. The crop makes sense, but this?”

April tilted her head, red eyes beaming at her curiously. “Our policies protect the business foremost, but there were instances where our carnivore clients have gotten a little -,” she paused, wincing.

“Hungry?”

“Bitey,” she elaborated. “Claimed they were caught up in the moment, which can happen anywhere.”

Zoila flinched. “I see,” her ears pressed to the side of her head. “Any recent accidents?”

“Actually, no,” she answered brightly. “Our last bite accident was during my great-grandmother’s run as Hestia's Harem's proprietor. Better safe than sorry," she winked.

Right. She’d read about these establishments and eavesdropped on conversations. Houses of ill repute thrived in this corner of the city - _Storyville_ , she inhaled. In spite of rising taxes and unwavering controversy, the houses had yet to fold. The national government’s acceptance was an aid no one fully understood; people and animals alike questioned the motives of their representatives. Nonetheless, occasional outrage morphed in the vocal minority, but none of their organizations were able to put a dent in the architecture women like April Winterbottom's great-grandmother had established.

"Hestia's Harem," Zoila exhaled. One of the largest brothels in the city, the five floored facility provided a number of services unrelated to their sexual services. Gun safety was appropriate and encouraged, but for security measures, was provided to weaker animals, carnivore and herbivores alike, to prevent worst case scenarios from occurring. Obviously, this was the Trinity's way of telling her to abandon the endeavor, but the more she thought, the more Zoila craved.

“Okay,” she nodded. “How long do I have?”

“You paid for a single night that starts when you enter the room and ends at seven in the morning. Refreshments will be provided.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Anything else?”

April’s smile did not stretch or fall into the pattern of strain most smiles did. In spite of the neutral curve, Zoila spotted something unusual about her smile. Nothing bad. Or strange. Just a realization this smile was like so many others chained to customer service positions. Hard earned smiles born out of cheekiness, dry hair and exhaustion from tending to numerous people in a single day, mostly entitled and rude people. 

Was she being entitled? Was that what she thought of her - a sheep, a protected species, despite her wool color, craving the flesh of something dangerous, potentially lethal? And oh, if she were to be maimed or killed during this transaction, her name would likely be martyred while the other’s was dragged in the mud, dissected on every side and sentenced to a wholesome stay on Kuzimu Island. 

“It’s your choice,” said April, red eyes almost bursting with unbridled amusement. “I’ll leave you to it.”

She spun on her heels, black ankle length boots and departed in the opposite direction. Her silhouette disappeared down the corridor.

Alone, she was truly left to her thoughts. Okay...she inhaled...no going back. Slipping the riding crop under her arm, she tiptoed to the doorknob and turned, using a moderate amount of force to get it open. Upon opening, her nose twitched are the sweetly spiced aroma in the room, and her ears twitched for every step she made, softer than the last. Clutching both items, shoulders trembling, she closed the door with a soft click, feeling her heartbeat drum in her throat.

The room was properly furnished, and much like the outward appearance, appealed to the neoclassical, Greek architecture made famous in the Antebellum war period. Adjusting to the scent, she observed the room’s design and marveled at the aquamarine theme the room had undertaken. Curtains, a dense cotton, were draped at the windows where a lacy under curtain shielded prying eyes. She didn’t need to look through to know what resided beyond the confines of the room.

Stars dotted the royal blue landscape, and a million city lights assisted in illuminating the night. Skyscrapers mocked the mansion in the distance, a short distance as Zoila remembered the business district was a few blocks away, and she peered through them, not pushing the lace aside to see better. She saw and knew a sufficient amount about the city she lived in, and now wasn’t the time to wonder.

She turned from the window and felt her lungs constrict. A canopy bed was placed in the center room, draped in aquamarine pillows and blankets. But that was normal. Expected. What stunted Zoila’s breath was the weight applied atop it. 

Nearing the bed, she placed the items on the nightstand. She intended to perform thoroughly, and no ounce of the specimen would go unturned. Nonetheless, the weight was heavy on her chest, and as she stared at the beast spread on the bed, she found it hard to judge where she should start the process. 

Before she could, she needed to observe and understand. The animal beneath her, or marginally above her - there was a stool underneath the bed, was more than she suspected her body could accommodate. Dressed in only his briefs, she estimated he’d matured to his tallest height if not weight, as weight was dependent on a number of factors when living in the city. And most importantly, after her admiration waned somewhat, she noticed a peculiar trait.

The beast’s pattern differed from expectation. His fur wasn’t the deep orange she anticipated but a rich, gentle golden shade. Even his stripes, the recognizable black stripes all tigers were known to possess, were more of an earthy, reddish brown. His white coat was prominent, giving the animal a more strawberry flavor than its traditional coating. Other than that, everything was normal, or as normal as she could see it. She wasn’t a veterinarian.

Her attention wasn’t satisfied to remain in a single place. Hungry eyes roamed across the coat, mentally measuring the size to approximately seven feet tall. Experts claim a tiger can reach thirteen feet bipedal, she mused, sucking in her lip to gnaw excitedly. But as the pattern wasn’t the typical shade - a curious choice, she teased, she pulled the stool from under bed using her foot and climbed up. His mass overtook the bed, overwhelmed the mattress and wooden structure holding it upright; however, the bed seemed strong enough to endure the weight. 

So she sat on the edge, torso aimed at the sleeping tiger, and she reached for the uncurled hand. It was the closest appendage. Suppressing the shiver wanting to dive down her spine was easy enough, and she lifted the palm, scooting enough to inspect closely.

The left hand. Evolution fascinated her. All children - human and animal - were taught the basics of evolution, of The Event that altered the evolutionary track record as the world knew it. The traditional tiger’s paw was closely aligned, but the paw she cradled on her lap was more human than animal. Five fingers. Five claws. All he’d need is one to slash my throat...she crossed her legs, smirking like she was a child in a candy store, and she gazed at the muzzled face, puzzled. 

This won’t do...she released the paw and its warmth to shimmy up to the head, another mass she couldn’t comprehend in good conscience on the outside. Finding the straps to the muzzle wasn’t difficult, and she unbuckled them with definite snaps, gripping the sides firmly as she removed the mask.

Her heartbeat found her ears, and the furious rhythm was disoriented. Animal instinct was deeply rooted. Innate, the famed Dr. Javish described, and the boundaries crossed. Animals couldn’t defy their natural instincts, and this included humans, no matter what they wanted to believe. Impossible, the mountain goat bleated on her television screen three and a half months ago, “We cannot curb our instincts no more than a leopard can change their spots or a human their skin color.”

“Lies,” she said aloud, “then why am I here?” Sheep instincts were to remain near the flock, stay close to the family. The flock protected, shielded and made it harder for predators to pick them out. Her apartment complex was the flock, despite her family living in a southeastern village, and no sensible sheep would have sought this out. 

She couldn’t even put it to words. Fetish? Kink? Zoila didn’t know, but she placed the muzzle to the side and grabbed what she could. 

Of course, the head was much larger than her grasp could take. What would he look like skinned...fingers threaded through dense fur, and she sighed, dreamily, at the touch. Side whiskers. Or are they called something else, she wanted to ask but asking wasn’t feasible at this point in time. She had to grip each side one at a time, giggling like a lamb the entire time. Fear hadn’t fully corroded, and she followed the line from his chin, all the way past his neck and beyond.

Staring at the mostly naked tiger and then at her own clothes, she snorted. “I paid all this money,” she gripped her cardigan, pulling it over her head, “just to be overdressed. No. Absolutely not.” Head caught in the middle, she tugged her cardigan off and unbuttoned her jeans. 

“Okay, now,” she patted his chest. “Now, we’re even.”

In her mismatched bra and panties, they were mostly even. Her wool covered her breasts for the majority, but the weight was still prominent. Already,Her gaze wandered to the gray briefs he was left lying in, and she hissed, “It’s about time I inspected the meat of the demonstration.”

She prowled to the bulge - no other word for it and paused. On her stomach, she crawled to the end of the bed and rested there, transfixed in his briefs. They were loose fitting, not particularly tight, and she supposed, if he was conscious, he wouldn’t have any complaints. Her fingers trembled as they slipped under the elastic band, tugging it down until the member appeared.

His cock debuted in a flaccid state. An almost magenta albeit bright magenta shade. Around the mass were moderate, medium sized barbed spikes; inquisitive, she poked them and was startled. Soft, no spiky at all, she grinned, pleased evolution had again assuaged her concerns. Aware there was no chance of her taking him all in one go and with a single hand, she sought the night stand beside the bed. Opening it, she found what she searched for and squealed quietly.

Back at the position, she debated where to start. The bottle of lube rested on the tiger’s ribs, and she was positioned on top of him, ass facing him. Using both hands, she curlee gently around his clock, feeling a twitch inside that stirred a throb within her. Lowering to level, she took a tentative sniff and was pleased, then she went further and licked. 

Sheep tongues were neither long or short, but seemed to do the trick as she felt the muscles stiffen in her grasp. She concentrated broad strokes on the sides she could reach, steadily grinding at the same time. Her tongue slunk and slithered to the tip where she stretched her mouth to swallow completely. She pushed as far as she could, up to the middle second, and pulled back, growing excited at the feel of the barns against her tongue. It wasn’t painful, not even sharp; the sharp barbs were reduced to gentle nubs, evolution’s reminder.

Arousal twitched throughout the muscle, and her arousal couldn’t change the structure of their bodies. Strain tugged at her jaws as he expanded; her tongue swirled around him, the red stripe on a candy cane. Quickness wasn’t feasible; that didn’t stop her from trying. She found a rhythm where she didn’t need to hold him for balance. Mid suck she reached for his balls and stifled a chuckle down her throat that earned her a sigh behind her. 

Unconcerned, she began to massage them gently. Her touch was almost imperceptible, but she persisted pressing thoughtful taps on the underside. The moans behind her lumbered up her spine, and she smirked, pulling back to lick the tip. 

Ignoring her arousal wasn’t difficult. The throbbing between her legs increased, and she could feel the slickness passing her folds every time her hips moved. But there was something enticing about this, having this much control over a person. And she wanted it, craved the final release as he lumbered in a thinly conscious state. Massaging his balls and bobbing her head proved sufficient; small vibrations scaled his cock, and she tasted a sweet, tangy substance meshed with her saliva. 

He’s close, the thought sat impatiently, he’s close. Even here - no one liked to think about it - his pulse fluctuated. The incessant beat throbbed against her mouth, mounting to its peak as warm, sweet wash exploded in her mouth. Closing her eyes, she forced down as far as she could go. Barely making the middle, she suppressed her gag reflex. Delight flooded her as cum splattered in every direction. Her muscles vibrated, encouraging his release to slide further.

Slowly, she slid up his dick, smacking her lips lightly on the tip. And swallowed. But it hadn’t stopped. He hadn’t stopped. 

Cum splattered on her breasts, tangled in her wool, and she jumped, laughter bubbling on her tongue. What didn’t stick to wool found its way to her skin, and she sighed, joyous at the sensation.

Was this what it was like? Was this the pinnacle of euphoric pleasure? The sensation was raw. Delightful. Lost in a space caught in between worlds, this one and the imagined, coherent thought fluttered numbly. Triumph encased her in a cocoon of self-satisfaction, deluded her into believing she’d escaped nature’s intentions.

Had she paid attention, she might’ve escaped, or she might’ve made the struggle less embarrassing. Had she listened to her instincts, the matter would’ve been circumvented completely. She’d continue her life as it was, oblivious and wanting and content at the same time. 

But she hadn’t. So exactly five seconds before, her ears pricked up, and a shiver locked on her spine, steadily clawing to her shoulders.

A grip solidified on her hips. A grip she hadn’t anticipated or expected or calculated in the realm of possibilities. But there was nothing she could do about it. Knowing instantly didn’t prepare her, and except for a barely audible yelp when she was pulled, she didn’t resist. 

Her mind raced at what could happen, what was going to happen. Eaten...consumed...devoured...and none of it would be easy. Terror should’ve raced through her. Her senses were overwhelmed, and tears sprang to her eyes. But another presence surged, and it resonated in her pussy. The incessant pulsing hadn’t ceased, hadn’t stopped, and she realized as hot breath soaked her panties, though afraid, she wasn’t afraid.

“Fuck...fuck...fuck,” cognitive dissonance and fear clashed. Warmth pooled in her pussy, sticky and hot. Pounding her fists on soft fur, she buried her nails and pinched. “God damn you,” she hissed, whirling at home with the most indignant glare she could muster, “I am your master.”

Watery chlorophyll scrutinized her under half-lidded hoods. She buried the flinch in her soul and grimaced. He did not move. He held her firmly, not entirely transfixed with a long tongue stretched out of his mouth. Legs spread, ass and pussy to his front, she knew what he intended to do - devour her in another way, and as enticing it was, relinquishing control of the situation wasn’t an option.

Nonetheless, she questioned the tools used to make him so subservient. He hadn’t released her but hadn’t moved any further. His gaze shadowed in a way suggesting he wasn’t fully present, acting on training than anything else. His massive tongue rolled towards his teeth, licking his fangs. Long, ivory teeth, and she swallowed the lump in her throat, then grinned.

“Gentle,” she commanded. “I want you to lick me gently,” she weighed the foggy stare and lifted her head haughtily, “and finger me, gently. You know a woman’s anatomy?”

“Yes,” he rumbled.

Her hips bucked forward, but he didn’t move an inch.

“Good,” she licked her front teeth. “Do you know sheep anatomy? At least, genitalia? It isn’t that different from a tigress’.”

He paused, ears flicking back. “Yes, I know,” he answered. Smooth, rich and oddly tender, his voice electrified her; her fingers curled around his top fur. 

“Good,” she panted. “Now, go on.”

A scream tore out of her mouth. His tongue pressed against her panties in long strokes, up and down. With one paw gripping her hip, she wasn’t able to escape; for every jerk forward, his touch reeled her in towards him. 

He was patient, ears twitching back and forth at the sound of her helpless bleats. As her panties were soaked, pussy aching, he took the initiative to slip a finger under the elastic. Blurry awareness tossed over her, but nothing could prepare her for his fingers spreading her open. She counted two on each side, spreading her whole - exposing her, and she buried her face into her hands. This can’t be happening, as his teeth brushed against her swollen lips, she reminded every act was stamped in reality. It took all her strength to suppress the scream rising to her lips as his lips puckered around her clit.

“Oh shit,” she grunted, unable to stop her hips from grinding. “Goddess, please,” she mumbled. His tongue stroke evenly, teasing her lips and slipping inside her pussy where every convulsion squeezed around his tongue.

Going to faint, not now, not possibly now. Heaving, she forced back her rising arousal that was reaching new heights she didn’t think possible. Burying her face into his fur, her hips rocked unsteadily as his tongue ventured deeper inside, braving waves of euphoria. She even felt the tip at that far reached opening, tickling and sliding as the tip of his finger massaged her clit. 

Her bleats grew raspier, stronger and quieter as time ticked on, as the bubbling in her stomach intensified. His teeth slid gently on the sides; although concern was present, the tight crunch of her pussy. Leaks spread across the dam, ready to burst at the second, and she quivered, knowing her self control was dwilind to its last threads. 

“Hmm,” he hummed quietly. Satisfaction dripped on the sounds he made. Low grunts rumbled all the way to his stomach, and the vibrations steadied her. “Have you used toys,” she heard the question absently.

“Um...yes,” she mumbled, confused. “I...don’t you have claws?”

“How large?” Another pressure pushed against her exposed slit, now firmly clenched. She shivered at the touch, feeling more fall onto his fur. The remaining tension fell back, and she sighed, shaking her head. 

“Sheep size,” she confessed, groaning at her failure to properly prepare. Conversation wasn’t something she considered when she filled out the application, and she hadn’t imagined she’d get this far in the game. However, she supposed the discussion was pertinent. His mouth hadn’t moved far from her puffy lips. “But I…,” she swallowed, “I can take you.”

Observing him over her shoulder, smoldering in his pupil was a ferocity she didn’t understand and couldn’t understand. He rested one palm on her ass, squeezing thoughtfully, and she wondered whether whatever sedatives they used were wearing down. He squeezed, and she whimpered.

When he smiled, butterflies fluttered. “What do you want me to do,” he asked.

Confusion settled on her brow, but she didn’t hesitate, “I want you to prepare me for what you’ve got.” She didn’t need to look ahead to know his arousal had taken hold again. The bulge returned, and if she was going to accommodate him, she’d have to be ready. 

“Of course,” grinned lazily, and before she had a chance to respond to him, an intrusion entered her. She squeezed, sucking in a breath that strangled in her lungs. She bucked against her will, more eagerly this time. His finger slid inside her with some resistance; the sides burned, just a little, and yet, pleasure rippled throughout her. She thrusted, feeling a tingling on the sides, and the finger rotated inside, curling downwards as he began massaging the area. 

His second grip hovered near her clit. Just above the hood, flicking softly as he slid in, out. I can barely fit his finger, she gnawed on her cheek, gasping at intervals, how will I fit his dick. But she knew not to question it. Length wasn’t the issue as much as it was girth, and from what she was able to see and recalled stretching into her mouth, there was much to take in. But she could do it. She would do it. She didn’t want anything else, and while his finger pumped her, still caressing the gentle, almost miniscule spot inside, she panted, rocking cautiously around his face. 

He pressed his muzzle to her ass. Applying moisture she didn’t think she’d use, with the bottle resting patiently on the night stand. Her walls stretched moderately, creating less friction, and the sounds emitting out of her mouth must’ve pleased him. His hums transitioned to purrs, and under the purrs were the deep rumbles of heated grunts. 

Meeting him for every thrust, the waves strengthened, and she rode him gleefully, letting her pussy stretch and flower around him. Her moans deepened, pleas quickened, and as she clutched her tit, squeezing the hidden nipple tightly, she counted the seconds until euphoria coiled around her, suffocating her with its pleasure. Then nothing. It stopped. He stopped. His digit exited, and she felt a grin on her pussy as his chest quaked, inhaling her scent. She wiggled in his grip, frustration coloring every step, and she swung back at him, a whine on her lips. “Why,” she cried. “Why’d you stop?”

His palm fell on her ass again, smacking it softly. “I needed to make sure you’d fit,” he mumbled dreamily. “I pushed it as far as it could go.”

Grimacing, she turned to the night stand. “Hand me that,” she pointed to the bottle of lube, appropriately tiger sized, “we’re going to need a lot of it.”

Although breathless and on the edge of delirium, she shuffled to the end where his cock waited for her. Applying what she considered a sufficient amount on the dark pink, veiny beast, she stroked him kindly, paying attention to every jolt the muscle offered. He grew slick in his arousal, and the small ounce of pre-cum visible at the tip delighted her. But she hadn’t forgotten herself, despite it being easy to do so in her state of mind. She faced him as she spread her legs, showing him the same spot he had tended to seconds before, and she dribbled what she thought was enough and more atop of her swollen pussy. Over her lips. Over her clit. Inside her slit where the dull ache throbbed, squeezing her fingers in preparation for what was to come.

Gripping his cock, fascinated, she lowered carefully. His tip pressed against her slit. She hesitated for a second, then pushed on, wincing as the burning increased. Stretched in every possible way, she counted her breaths; even breaths chanted in her head. But the further she went, the harder it was to think about breathing or anything else. This pain was new, different, and an entirely separate sensation had taken over. He consumed her and every ounce of her nerve system. Her walls vibrated around him, unsure of this intruder but complied to their natural obligations. She pressed her hand forward, twisting his fur and using his groans to fuel her determination.

Torturous was what this was, the steadiness - the concentration as she forced her pussy to take him whole. By time she reached the end, his arousal throbbed inside her; every ounce was closed in, leaving her with a tingling, burning ache flowering to the top. Hands on his lower abdomen, her eyelids fluttered as she started to move. Slowly, patiently, she didn’t need to rush this. Gripping his fur for balance, every pump on his dick sent waves of pleasure throughout her; yet, that alone wasn’t enough to satisfy her. Her fingers fluttered to her clit, and scissored, spreading the fingers apart for additional wetness. Labored breaths grunted in still air with their hips meeting every pant. 

She didn’t realize it at first, the movements he’d succumbed to underneath her. Lost in the sounds and her sensations, she hadn’t realized he’d resumed some control for himself. His hips thrust vigorously inside her, pounding into her as she tried to meet him toe to toe, but her resistance was flimsy and couldn’t keep up with his stamina. 

“Oh Goddesses,” her back arched, forehead first on his abdomen as she grinded to her hips’ delight. Constant slapping whispered in her ears as his balls smacked into her, and from there, juices spilled and tangled in their fur. Strength started to dwindle, and all she could do was stare numbly - no, not numbly, blissfully at the tiger whose gaze was shrouded in lust. 

So came the pivotal scene, the sharp squeezing and continuous convulsions at a quickened pace unlike the previous times. Her mouth opened, forming a definite o, but no sound came out as her breath shuddered in her lungs. Her cunt gripped him fitfully for those final moments, and lurching forward, she collapsed in a mess of their sweat. Submitting to this wasn’t difficult in the slightest; she rumbled her pants into his fur, a hazy delight blurring her vision. 

His thrusts grew shallow as her cunt milked him for every drop he was worth. Half-twitches around his cock eased, and distantly, she traced the sounds of his half-hearted curses, feeling a weight lifted off her chest she didn’t know she had. He wheezed his moans, and in response, she hummed into the waves his breathing formed.

Strength depleted, she managed to slide carefully off and rolled to the side. A wide arm scooped around her, securing her waist and dragged her to the head of the bed. She might’ve resisted, or she might’ve mumbled sleepily. Sex always made her sleepy, and most importantly, her accomplishment had exhausted her. 

Head pressed to a pillow - firmer than her own and softer than she was used to - she didn’t protest when another arm pooled possessively around her waist, forcing her back to his chest. As much as instinct would have it, she didn’t whimper when a satisfied purr - more likely a growl - breathed into her, warm and frighteningly yet oddly comforting.

In fact, Zoila didn’t think of anything at all. 

\-----

There was no way to tell how long she slept, and how long didn’t register in her mind when three knocks tore her from her comfortable slumber.

She whined, grabbing the comforter over her head, and curled tighter in a ball. “Go away,” she mumbled, willing the person at the door to go away.

The attendant at the door wasn’t leaving any time soon. Due to the knocks, her mind became aware of the sudden coolness she hadn’t felt earlier. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the other half of the bed was empty and properly made. Her brow furrowed, and she clutched her torso, realizing there was no arm clinging to it. “Wait, he’s gone,” disappointment tempered her confusion. “Just like that? Gone.”

I don’t think I paid for him to stay overnight, but he was partially sedated. Her eyes swayed to the night stand. I didn’t even get to use the riding crop. The fault was hers alone. Lost in her excitement, she’d neglected the finer instruments she’d requested. No use in crying over spilt milk. As she threw over the comforter and reached for a robe she didn’t recall being there earlier, she wondered who could be this insistent on her attention at whatever blessed hour it was.

“I’m coming,” she said in a half shout, hissing the last end in irritation. “I’m coming, please, hold on.” Fastening the robe, she pressed her ear to the door, “Who is it?”

“Violet Madder,” a woman answered. “Legal liaison of Hestia's Harem.”

“Legal liaison,” she repeated, surprised. “It has that?”

She could feel the woman's smirk. "We're an influential franchise," she replied in a tone so silky that it was off putting. "We're called a wellness brothel for a reason. An indoor pool, three saunas, gym membership, two cinemas, professional counseling, and more than -,"

"Enough rooms to accommodate over 700 customers," of which she was one. Zoila crossed her arms, embarrassed.

"If you're not decent, I can come back later."

“What needed to be discussed,” she curled the robe closer, an elderly debutante clutching her pearls. 

“Closing interviews, ma’am, just a formality.”

 _Closing interviews_ , she mouthed, but the term wasn’t unfamiliar to her. April had explained the subject on some level during their first meeting. It’d surprised and confused Zoila to discover the interview process for what she deemed a facetious pursuit, but April’s laughter exposed her naivete. 

“Matters of the flesh are rarely so,” she replied, bringing the tip of warm tea to her mouth, “if they were, politicians and their kind wouldn’t balk at the legalization of our businesses, businesses which have recorded every detail of their conduct. And legally at that.”

Zoila had flinched then, and she flinched now upon hearing closing interviews a second time. However, she knew this was simply a formality of the contract she signed her name to, and she nodded quietly, clutching the doorknob. “Yes,” she said softly. “Oh yes, I’m decent. Please, just a moment.”

She didn’t think the legal liaison would be unfettered at the sight, not that there was much of a sight to be seen. Only the bed was somewhat of a mess, as the tiger seemingly cleared his presence during her sleep, but whether the woman found anything detestable, Zoila couldn’t tell. Her smile charmed her way into the room, and she took a seat at the sitting table, pulling her briefcase onto her lap.

“I understand this may sound strange to you,” she started, setting several papers on the table, “but this is simply a formality, to reassure your experience was a positive one and met your expectations.”

On the other side of the table, with dark strands of dawn slipping past the curtains, she gawked at the woman. “You’re human,” Zoila said dumbly, head tilted. 

Violet raised her gaze briefly, then chuckled. “Oh yes,” she grinned, “I forgot to mention that, didn’t I? I am certainly human.” She returned to her paperwork.

“I didn’t know humans worked in these professions.”

“When the pay is good, humans can manage anything." Her brow suddenly furrowed, "Would you like to meet with one our counselors?"

"What?"

"We provide quality mental health services as well," she straightened, more business like than Zoila was expecting. "If you feel -,"  
  
"I don't," she interjected sharply. Straightening in the chair, "What are we discussing? What do I have to sign?”

“Just the basics.” She didn’t need a detailed account of what occurred but required the scant naughtiness. Was she pleased? Yes. No one was harmed. No. Or she didn’t think she harmed the tiger. If she had, she hadn’t meant to. (That got a laugh out of her.) The tranquilizer gun wasn’t used, a great sign - meaning the sedative had taken the effect the user had wanted. He wanted that?

“Oh yes,” Violet confessed. “You’d be surprised how many carnivores and apex predators prefer sedatives during their meetings. Loss of control is invigorating for them.” She pointed to the signature lines on each page, “Now, I can lead to the meat of this interview.”

“Meat?”

“Yes…,” her eyelids fluttered, and her smile grew strained at the corner. Was this the bad part of the interview? The ripping the band-aid sort of thing. “Now, the tiger - Tawny, as we’ve dubbed him in this instance, was extremely pleased with your performance.”

“He was pleased with my performance,” she repeated, slowly. It took her a moment to understand the meaning behind those words. “So...he was in on it,” she pressed.

“Yes, of course,” smacking her mouth as she motioned a circle over the papers, “everything is written down to protect our asses. He wanted the sedative. He wanted an herbivore. He also went through an extensive interview process, which is how we matched you.”

“Matched?”

She nodded vigorously. Coiled, kinky black hair - shaming the night’s shadow - bobbed gleefully. “Absolutely, we compared your applications, professions, background checks and reviewed your interviews to estimate an approximate match. You specifically requested a tiger, and he didn’t mind an herbivore species, as long as it was...you know.”

“Yeah,” she read the eleventh contract back and front, “um...so...what you’re saying is he wants to see me again?” She set the paper down, crossing her leg over her knee, “That’s what you’re saying, right?”

“It isn’t as uncommon as you think,” she explained. “Anonymity and confidentiality is vital for our line of work, but sometimes, some matches continue onward for whatever purposes.”

“But…”

Leaning back in the chair, she settled her arms on the chair and crossed her legs. Light glowed across her spring bound earth skin. “His sole request is for this encounter to remain conscious. He has an interest in BDSM, but not intensely so. Due to the requirements, you and he would undergo a training session in preparation.”

“Another legality,” she grabbed what she counted was the fifteenth contract and read this was the one detailing the tiger’s request. “Oh,” she grunted, rolling her eyes, “he wants a gag order.”

“Well, wasn’t it fun when he wasn’t making noise?” 

“On the contrary, the grunting and moaning made it fun.”

“Look, Ms. Wethers,” she entwined her fingers, “you don’t have to make the decision now. We can always find another person to fill his request. Lord knows some herbivores love being livestocked.”

The question was, however, was she one of them. Glancing at the table, she clicked her tongue and nodded. “I’m going to keep this one me,” and she received the rest of the stapled contract, feeling more like a novella than a few, flimsy pages. “You’ll have my decision by the end of the day.”

She smirked, “Of course, ma’am.” Collecting her things, she stood and offered her hand, “Thank you for your time, and I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay. The textured vegetable protein breakfast steaks are to die for.”

“Yes,” she smiled forcibly, clasping her hand around hers. Able to feel every difference in bone, texture and skin made her shiver, and she retracted quickly, “Thank you for doing this. It was quite an experience.”

“Why does it have to end so soon,” she tapped her nose. Zoila stiffened, looking away for the shame on her cheeks burned when she knew they shouldn’t have. Amusement twinkled in Ms. Madder’s eyes, and she pulled the door to close, leaving it ajar. Her heels grew silent down the corridor. Zoila heard three knocks and an introduction too soft to pick up but knew the script was repeated.

Sighing, she moved from the table, setting the contract aside. She’d read it after breakfast. Going back to sleep wasn’t much of an option. Wandering to the window, she pushed the curtain aside; the sun had beaten the shadows of dawn and was half a cup across the horizon. Soon, she’d leave this place, resuming the normalcy her ancestors strove for.

But as she moved away, movement attracted her attention. Caught in the bottom left of her periphery vision, something floundered. Returning to the window, she punched at the corner and saw someone stumble out of the door. Drenched in a beige cardigan sweater and denim pants, the tiger waved at someone else standing at the door. 

Zoila pressed her face to the window, eyes wide. It could be some other tiger, she thought quickly - endangered in some parts of the world, the Siberian tiger population on their continent had exploded, securing various species’ survival, but focusing on the stripes was the key. She recalled the distinct, angular pattern and not many tigers were born with the strawberry blonde coat. 

“Thanks for everything, Damian,” April Winterbottom’s timbre rolled in warm air, “I hope you enjoyed yourself.  
  
“It was better than I expected,” gravely yet silkily so, the tiger waved at the rabbit, walking in the opposite direction. “Please, give me an update when possible,” he twiddled with the bottom of his cardigan. “Have a good one, hon.”

His head careened to the window. How did he know which window it was? Nonetheless, tension scattered throughout her body, suddenly confronted with the full force of the tiger’s milky amber gaze. She didn’t move, suddenly unable to do the basic wave, and though there was what she believed warmth cradled in his stare, she ducked away, leaving before he had the chance to greet her. The curtain swished anxiously in her wake.   
  
Back at the bed, she picked at the threads of the robe - registering at last this certainly wasn’t something she brought with her. Folding her arms around her waist, she glared at the contract sitting on the table. Prim, proper and bejeweled in all its legalities. An experiment was the reason for this venture, an experiment to determine the depth of her depravity; she never intended to repeat the experiment, having gained a sufficient amount of satisfaction.

“I’m full,” she said, determinedly pressing her arms into her stomach, hunching over as she repeated the statement. “I don’t need this anymore,” gritting her teeth as if her vehemence could pull belief into reality. Nonetheless, the ache between her legs and the shudder in her heart was inclined to contradict her.

**Author's Note:**

> World building here and there. Next chapter will introduce more customers and staff, but I'd really like to expand on this world. With more customers! And more...other things that'll include the customers.


End file.
